


Marvel One Shots

by pillow_fort_fanatic



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:33:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26011189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pillow_fort_fanatic/pseuds/pillow_fort_fanatic
Summary: Here you'll find the <1000 word stand-alone drabbles I occasionally write out of boredom. New bits will be uploaded as/if written, and character tags will be updated as needed. (Prompts specified at the beginning of each piece if applicable.)
Kudos: 1





	1. Little Cabin In The Woods (Stephen Strange)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Stephen Strange, a broken match, a cabin

When the wind began to pick up, Stephen Strange thought nothing of it. It was nature, for crying out loud. Of course there would be wind. And when the lights flickered, well, that was only natural too. Wind toyed with power lines. Fussy power lines made the lights flicker. Sound logic.

He reminded himself again of this fact, this sound, logical fact, as he roused himself from the couch to fill his glass once more from the crystal bottle on the kitchen counter, and it caused his hand to hover uncertainly mid-reach. Was it really wise to be consuming more alcohol on a night when his mind was threatening to come unhinged?

To hell with it.

"Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!" he croaked to no one in particular, and downed the glassful as soon as it was poured. Then he felt foolish, as many wise men do when declaring pirate adages to empty rooms. Stephen decided the bottle was coming back to the couch with him.

He couldn't find anything worth watching on Netflix, so it really was no bother when the lights went out, seemingly for good this time, and he had to power down his laptop to conserve battery life. It wasn't that the room looked eerie in the light from the screen. No, no. It was the battery life.

Time to put more logs on the fire. Luckily he'd brought in plenty of wood from the porch this afternoon.

 _Little cabin in the woods_ …

A chuckle rose unbidden to his lips at the thought of that gosh-awful children's song, and the laughter seemed to ease something tight in his chest. All that were outside were rabbits, frightened as could be.

… _frightened as could be._

… _frightened as could be…_

… _frightened…_

"Alright. Enough of that." He stood, too quickly, grabbed a candle, and made for the bedroom. Why stay awake when all the lights were out already? He'd come back and stoke the fire for the night…soon. He'd do that soon. Yes. Definitely.

But somehow the candlelit bedroom was more unsettling than the living room had been, and he wondered not for the first time why he'd thought coming out here such a good idea to begin with.

The lights came back, then were gone again. Power outages worked like that, didn't they? They did. He definitely remembered an electrician yammering away at him once at a party somewhere about how power outages were tricky like rabbits: here and then gone again.

… _saw a rabbit hopping by, frightened as could be._

The tap wasn't working when he went to brush his teeth.

Last time he agreed to let Marlow lend him her cabin for the weekend. This place was falling to pieces.

Lights again. Darkness again.

Deeper darkness.

He was going to need a second candle, so with a resigned sigh that sounded too loud among the wailing of the wind, he opened the bedroom door to go find one in the kitchen. It was halfway there that he realized:

The fire had gone out.

And as echoing the thought, suddenly his candle extinguished itself too, and the wind's claws snapped at his spine and for the love all that was holy why wouldn't the demons let him take a weekend, one solitary, blessed weekend to himself?!

Magic sparked at his fingertips before the dropped candle hit the floor, but no attacker presented itself. No force brushed up against his power. The cabin was truly empty.

_Little cabin in the woods, little man by the window stood…_

… _frightened as could be._

It was a long night for a vigil against an invisible threat, and sometimes he could have sworn the wind had voices. He dared not listen to their words.

And when morning came to ghost light across his weary eyes, he wasn't even surprised to see the splintered wood of a broken match in the middle of the floor. The easiest way to douse a light is to make sure it's never lit. He wondered if he existed outside these walls anymore.

_Little man by the window stood…frightened as could be._

Outside, the wind picked up, perhaps mourning a man who once was but never would be. Or perhaps it was just wind. Of course there would be wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone not familiar with it, this little piece takes its name from a children's song I grew up with. Not sure if it's unique to the US or if it's more widespread than that? Regardless, there are several different versions of it, so Stephen Strange references the lines that I grew up with. If you know it by slightly different words, you're not wrong either, haha! As ever, I own neither Stephen Strange nor the lyrics to this song.


	2. Horatio (Tony Stark)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Tony Stark, a chihuahua, bookstore

Tony Stark loved bookstores.

Truly.

He loved wandering through them, immersed in the bundles of other people's thoughts and ideas and fantasies…and finding his best-selling autobiography featured time and time again amongst the lot of them. Invariably, he'd sign every single copy the store had in stock, then slip away and stake out the store to watch as people bought them and celebrated their unearthly luck at unknowingly stumbling upon such a treasure.

It was immensely gratifying, and if he hadn't told Pepper yet it was only because she wouldn't understand. She ran a company, sure, but she'd never written a book. Well, really, he hadn't so much written the book as he'd birthed it. Becoming an author was much like childbirth, Tony decided, and fatherhood suited him just fine. Yes sir.

Fatherhood and Philanthropy: Tony Stark.

He decided that would be the title of his next book.

The stakeouts became such a routine in his life that the New York locations started installing security cameras aimed specifically at displays of his book. It rather took the joy out of things, and the routine had to evolve to fit with the times. Tony had to start traveling.

So, sure, maybe he'd fly to random locations just to hit up bookstores. But so what? It wasn't like he had anything better to do, and just because his official business never brought him to places he visited didn't mean that good people everywhere should miss out on the chance to own a signed copy of "I Am Iron Man: How Nearly Dying Breathed New Life Into My Business."

One particularly grey October afternoon found him hunched under a ballcap on a sidewalk bench, vigilantly watching a Portland bookstore. The clouds overhead threatened rain, but he really didn't care. Tony could weather whatever weather until the first lucky Oregonian emerged unsuspecting with their treasure.

He was laser-focused.

He was resolute.

He…was getting peed on?

With a little grunt of irritation, Tony jerked his foot away from the mutant-rodent-creature that had just stopped to lift his leg on the world's foremost genius billionaire playboy philanthropist.

"The hell?"

The chihuahua—if you could legally call it that?—stared up at him in bug-eyed contempt.

"Well you've ruined a pair of shoes worth more than your soul. Happy, you little creep?"

Surprise of all surprises, the dog didn't answer.

Tony huffed.

"Go on, then," he muttered. "Get out of here."

When it became clear that there was no response coming from his attacker, Tony kicked at it. He didn't kick the dog; he kicked at it. There was a huge difference, which he would only be too happy to point out to anyone who dared criticize him. This was posturing. This was a bluff.

The dog didn't so much as flinch.

"You've got a decent poker face. I'll give you that." A smirk stole over his features. "Not a decent face, but a decent poker face. Aren't you just the perfect freak of nature? Tell me something: did your mother send you packing because you just reminded her of your pop's genetic failures?"

Horatio—he'd already named the dog Horatio, in his head—plopped himself down at Tony's feet. Territory had been marked, insults exchanged, and the mutual claiming was complete. Tony now owned a dog.

Pepper could never decide which was more ridiculous: the mangy street dog, the ridiculous purse-thing Tony carried him about in, or the fact that their favorite way to decompress was to deface books and wait for people to happen to notice the famous signature in their new purchase as they walked out into the world from the bookstore.

Tony Stark loved bookstores. Horatio did too.


End file.
